


Act Naturally

by BlunderGod (PompousPickle)



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Divorce, F/M, Johnny is still best dad ever, Mental Illness, just putting that out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PompousPickle/pseuds/BlunderGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We'll make the scene about a man that's sad and lonely / And begging down upon his bended knee / I'll play the part and I won't need rehearsing / All I gotta do is act naturally"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Act Naturally

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Act Naturally" by the Beatles, and also my deep and disturbed love of writing Emotionally Damaged Johnny Cage attempting to reclaim his identity.

“They _love_ it, Johnny! Absolutely _love it_ ,” the agent’s voice blared through speakerphone. Her words bounced through the walls of the penthouse, echoing around the entire living room.   

“‘The New Johnny Cage’, the critics are saying.” She continued on, reading off review titles. Johnny could almost picture her, sitting in a leather chair, feet on the desk, going through papers and smoking a cigar. He had to laugh. “‘Cage’s  Magnum Opus’. ‘Strong and Mature: Johnny Cage’s New Style’. ‘No More Gilded Cage: actor finally gets his wings’.”

Johnny mouthed along with the headlines as she read them. He kicked his feet up on his coffee table and leaned his head back on the couch. He had read them all. Had them memorized from the first word to the last. He called it pride.

“Seriously I don’t know what possessed you to audition for some no-name indie movie but I have to admit, you were right.” She laughed over the phone and then paused for a long moment. “Now I’m not going to repeat that ever again, you understand me?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Johnny then said, still staring at the ceiling and swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand. He had barely taken a sip. “Sometimes you just got to give the little guy a shot, you know?” He gave his own long pause and sighed, reaching over for the telephone. “I’ve got to get ready for an interview now.”

“Johnny it’s eleven o’clock at night.” The woman wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Oh you know that Hollywood never sleeps, darling! I think…oh yeah the car is pulling into the front of the building now!” he said with false bravado. “Oh no! I need to put on some fresh cologne! Get on a shiny new tie! Oh god where did I put my breath mints! Okay talk to you later bye,” he finally said with a single breath, turning off the phone with a sharp press of a button. He ignored his agent’s yelling as the room finally fell into silence.

He looked back up the ceiling, taking a long sip of his drink.

They were talking nominations. _Awards_. People were telling him that he would need to prepare a speech.

But the only person he had to thank was the one name he didn’t ever want to say.

He put down his drink on the coffee table, not bothering with the coaster. As he reached over, his eyes caught a folded up piece of paper. The edges were a bit worn and the envelope was long-since discarded. It was hard to believe that the movie only premiered at a film festival two months ago, and only now reached major theaters. The fan-letter was considerably new, and yet for all the times Johnny’s read it, it might as well have been years old.

_Dear Mister Cage,_

_Watching “Hardest of Hearts” hurt me. I could barely watch the screen. But also, somehow, I could barely look away. I don’t mean to make this all about me, but I’ve been struggling with mental illness for years. As long as I care to remember. I could never get a job from it. I can’t make friends from it. Everything I do stresses me out, scares me, makes me want to sleep for years._

_You portrayed it all. Every note. Every ounce of depression and despair and sadness. Every struggle to get better before falling flat into darkness. I felt it all inside myself._

_But still, he tried to get better. And he never gave up._

_I applied for a job today. Nothing major. But a big step. I handed my application in and looked the manager in the eye and for a moment I thought that maybe I was like him. Maybe I could get better, just a little._

_Perhaps it was just a character to you. After all, you’re usually a big buff action star. Perhaps it was just your way of branching out. But still, I felt like I saw something in your eyes. Something that inspired me and told me it would be okay. And I don’t know how you called on that so well, but I want to thank you._

He creased the folds of the letter and laid it down on the table. He looked all over the walls. There were pictures of him everywhere. There were articles about his performances adorning the white walls, even ones calling him a fraud. They were everywhere. Underneath the TV was a glass cabinet full of his movies, from DVDs to VHS tapes. There were even a few limited release action figures.

He grabbed his scotch and moved to the bedroom, unable to be in a room with himself any longer.

There, in some kind of private sanctuary, were pictures of Cassie. Lined up from when she was born to now, turning sixteen and already preparing to take on the world. Middle school graduation to movie premieres. Every moment captured. Every birthday party, first bike ride, first roller coaster. They were all there.

Sonya Blade never was.

He downed his glass and fell onto his bed. He needed more booze. He needed a distraction. He needed to hear Cassie’s voice. He knew she was tired of him calling her. It wasn’t a daughter’s job to get her father through. The divorce was nearly three years ago. He should be coping better than this.

He thought about the letter. _Get better_.

He lay on his bed, stretched out. He thought about that movie. He thought about the first time he read the script. He thought about the ailments inflicted on the main character. Worse than any Outworld invasion. More bitter, more personal. No one ever asked for it. And no one could summon a magical artifact to seal it away.

He laughed to himself. “You want to know how I did it, kid?” he said the words to no one. “It was real simple.”

All he had to do was act naturally.


End file.
